


This Is a Stick Up, Don't Make It a Murder

by serenadinsirens



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bank Robbery, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadinsirens/pseuds/serenadinsirens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Anonymous said:<br/>Raychael, either "trapped in a bank during a robbery" AU or "on a train together and the train is stopped in the middle of nowhere for some reason" AU (orbothifyouwanna))</p><p>Honestly, all Michael wanted to do was cash his paycheck for the week and go out and treat himself to In n’ Out, and then these three assholes waltz right in with the age old bank robbery cliches and SUDDENLY, that doesn't seem possible. What a god awful week.</p><p>Also, this kid with the Tetris? Yeah, he was gonna get them all killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is a Stick Up, Don't Make It a Murder

**Author's Note:**

> well this probably could have been a much more serious story, but I have an inability to take anything seriously. have this. title from a hit the lights album because it's the first thing i thought of. It doesn't really get that shippy until the end!

 

“Is this kid for fucking serious?”

Here’s a better question, Mr.  _Motherfucker With a Gun_ , are  _you ‘’_ for fucking serious’? Because last Michael Jones checked, banks were supposed to be a friendly, safe environment for all innocent citizens of Austin, Texas to enact their monetary transactions. Not, as tall, dumb, and intimidating may unfortunately think due to his very greed - or stupidity, Michael reasons it could be either, a place to carry in three M16 assault rifles with your buddies.

Honestly, all Michael wanted to do was cash his paycheck for the week and go out and treat himself to fuckin’ In n’ Out (why In n’ Out? Because Michael Jones loves himself and he’s had a hard week, give him a break. Plus when God created the world, he created In n’ Out with it. Check out the book of Genesis. On the eighth day, God created In n’ Out. Because he loves us) and then these three bitches waltz right in with the age old bank robbery cliches that they probably had recited in front of the mirror while writing a letter to their moms and apologizing for being a disappointment to the family.

Hell, they even actually said “put the money in the bag”. They couldn’t have been  _more_ unoriginal about it.

Maybe he was a little bitter. But hey, his astringency had to be justified by  _some_ law of nature, if he was gonna stand with his hands behind his head and back against the wall while some prick aimed a very large gun at the very center of his forehead.

What an, honest to God, shitty week.

“He givin’ you a problem, Bill?” Jesus, these guys even had generic as fuck names. What mother names their child ‘Bill’? Better yet, what moron, when given the name ‘William’ decides to fucking go by something as bland and laughable as ‘ _Bill_ ’? Someone who robs banks, apparently. And, judging by the scent of his dusty, underused black ski mask, smokes forty packs of cigarettes a day.

“Nah, it’s just that... he just- he just won’t even look  _up_.” Michael doesn’t dare to fully turn his head, even though the barrel of the rifle had left its spot from right between his eyes, so all he had left were his bare wits, and his poor as shit peripheral vision.

What he can barely make out is a sitting figure in a purple hoodie- sitting, of course meaning doing the exact  _opposite_ of what they were supposed to be doing right now as the exact words that came out of Macho Man Numero Uno’s greasy mouth when he pulled out his gun were ‘this is a robbery, motherfuckers, stand up and put your hands behind your head’.

Also, there was the faint, but distinctive tune of Tetris, resonating against the walls of the otherwise deathly still bank.

Michael could just imagine the news the next day. ‘Failed bank robbery due to overuse of television cliches. One fatality because of such unfathomable stupidity, the robbers had no choice but to put a bullet in their head. Then they had no choice but to surrender as there was nowhere left to go after you shoot someone for playing  _motherfucking Tetris_  during a bank robbery’. That would be a new one.

There’s the sound of clomping boots against the marble floor, “ _Hey_ ,  _kid_ , we’re holding up this fucking place!” does he dare turn his head now that no attention was on him? Michael votes that, hey, may as well while he’s alive, and looks very subtly to the side to see two very large men with very large guns hunched over and aiming their weapons at a much smaller, male figure, who was so goddamn invested in his game of Tetris that he didn’t even look up. Holy shit. 

“Hey!” Michael’s newly proclaimed arch nemesis Bill shouts, and shoves the rifle so far into the kid’s face, he wasn’t sure that he was even gonna stop and just cram it down purple hoodie’s throat. “Stand the fuck up, bitch! Or I’ll fill that tiny jaw of yours with lead!”

“Oh,” is all the stranger has to say. Fucking ‘oh’? Are you  _serious_?

“Welcome back to Earth, sunshine,” the larger, unnamed man sneers, “now are you gonna do what we say, or are you gonna make it much more difficult on yourself and the other lovely people in this place?” Michael prays, for his life and the sake of In n’ Out, that this kid just follows through. Please, Jesus, just do what they say.

“I mean... just let me finish this game, I’m gonna lose soon.” And they never did. They never chose the easy way out. Michael had always hoped that television shows were lying when the hero always chose the hard way, when presented with the option, but unfortunately, this is real life. Someone better tell this kid that shit doesn’t always play out like it does in Law and Order; you don’t do what the guy with the gun has to say, you get a bullet in your throat. That’s gotta be a law of nature, or something.

Macho Man number three tells the bank teller to keep putting the money in the bag, and starts to walk over to join his other buddies. Michael snaps his head back into place and muses at how fucking  _stupid_ this group of people were. Seriously. Even he knew not to leave the fucking clerk while you’re robbing the place. What a bunch of fuckin’ amateurs.

“Y’all got a problem over there?” a gruff voice asks like he couldn’t tell from the way his two buddies practically penetrating this poor kid with the barrels of their rifles alone.

“Stevie, tell this kid to stand up before I have to make him myself.” Great,  _Stevie_. All these guys were missing was a couple of Brooklyn accents and it would finally all fit together.  _Stevie_ raises his gun and aims it at the kid’s head, that Michael can now see is bearded and four eyed. Meaning glasses, of course.

“Kid, you got three M16 assault rifles aimed at ya head righ’ now, I think it’d be in ya best interest to stand the fuck up,” and Michael had to admit that Stevie had a point on that bit, the odds definitely were stacked against this purple hoodie’d stranger. “Or y’all’ll have three different bullets in the back of ya brain.”

“I mean, there’s not really a difference between one bullet and three bullets, right?” of course, the kid also had a point, but the kid had now signed his death wish and Michael would pray in the future for his poor soul to find happiness in the afterlife. Hopefully find himself somewhere with a never ending sea of Tetris. Michael decides that he’d rather not see the murder of an innocent person and instead turns his head back to face forward, and incidentally making eye contact with the bank teller, who still was behind the glass, and paused with money in his hands. Stevie lets out an irritated bark of a laugh.

“Alright, asshole, what’s your name so I can think about how I killed you every night before bed?” Michael vaguely hears the first man sneer, because he was just so busy staring down the bank teller that he could barely hear what the man was saying. The teller’s eyes flicker to a spot underneath the counter and back up to Michael as if to say ‘should I do it? Should I fucking do it? Will I die? Holy shit, am I going to die?’

Michael hopes that his very subtle, barely noticeable nodding was interpretted as ‘God, fuck,  _do it_ , you miserable fucking soul. You are the Joan of Arc of this bank, man, you gotta die to save me. You gotta take the risk. Jesus Christ, _just fucking do it_!’

The bank teller’s hand dodges to the spot under the counter that Michael hopes was an emergency dial to 911 and Michael Jones takes a second to pride himself on how fuckin’ good he was at nonverbal communication through eye contact. Gotta put that on his resume if he makes it out of here alive.

“I’m Ray Narvaez, Jr.” Speaking of making it out of here alive, this kid wasn’t. At least Michael could know his name, tell stories of his bravery, if being a snot nosed piece of shit to three bank robbers was considered bravery, rather than cockiness or flat out stupidity. Bill snorts.

“’Jr’, huh? You named after your dad, bitch?” he nudges Ray with his gun and Michael genuinely feels sorry for the kid’s family and friends in the future, learning how their dear beloved Ray died. “He’s gonna be awfully sad to know that his kid died talkin’ like he had a mouthful of dicks. What a cocky sonofabitch, you are, bitch.”

“I mean, I’ll suck your dick for a portion of the money, bro.”

_“This is the police! We have the building surrounded! Put down your weapons and come out with your hands above your head!”_

Talk about cliches, right? Michael holds in his relieved sigh and instead just lets his soul silently take a breather while the three stooges curse loudly and drop their guns to the ground, finally making a smart decision for once and actually surrendering. Maybe Ray Narvaez, Jr,  _somehow_ , was going to actually live to see the sun rise again. Or play another game of Tetris, whatever he was into.

Also, what was that Ray said about sucking dicks for money?

A middle aged mother bursting into tears knocked that fleeting thought out of Michael’s mind and into a memory he’d have years later at 3 am, staring up at the ceiling, because now, what really mattered is that this entire fucking disaster was finally  _over_. As dumb, dumber, and dumbest, exit the building with arms raised, everyone else in the bank lets out a sigh. Police begin to pile into the open doors of the bank, and start talking to the survivors.

“Are you okay?” a female officer asks Michael, and he nods to her, craning his head to try and find Ray Narvaez Jr over the mass of people. He spotted him by the purple hoodie, now with the hood lowered, talking to another officer, fingers drumming by his side. “Do you mind describing to me what you saw here today?” Ah yes, the other, more annoying side of resolution. The explanation.

And Michael goes through a rundown of his day as quickly as he could, describing the situation in as much detail as he could, (’I was just trying to cash in my pay check, ya know? And suddenly this guy just, like, bursts in with a gun!’). The woman nods along with him, taking notes down, asking him if he needed medical attention (’No, I’m fine. If anything I’ll talk to my doctor about it later’), before finally leaving him alone. And finally, after most people filing out of the building, it was only Ray, standing next to the door, looking at his phone, and a few extraneous police officers. 

Michael reminds himself that this was the guy who back talked three people who had guns pointed at his head. The least he could do was at least say ‘hello’, ‘hi’, ‘how are you doing’, ‘thanks for distracting them so that I could make it out of there with minimal emotional trauma’, ‘also, while we’re on the subject, what the fuck is wrong with you’. The common formalities.

In the end, the first thing that he can manage to get out is, “Tetris, huh?”

Ray looks up at him with raised eyebrows, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket.

“Oh, yeah, you know, it’s the shit, dude,” he plays off casually, rubbing the back of his head. Michael takes the time to really appreciate how the stranger looked: cute as hell. How did that escape him during the entire robbery debacle? Maybe the assault rifles were a distraction. Either way, Ray Narvaez Jr was cute. That was for sure.

“Bro, you almost fuckin’ died,” Michael points out, playing as cool as he could, talking to someone you just met through a fucking bank hold up, “you’ve gotta be, like, shitting your pants right now. That was three guns at the same time.”

“Guns, dicks, they’re all the same,” Ray responds and- wait, what was that? Was Ray coming on to him? “But I’m not a pussy. I’m a real boy. I can take ‘em.” Michael blinks in shock (seriously, three dicks is a lot of dicks to take at once, believe him), before grinning genuinely.

“Hey, I was planning on getting some In n’ Out, if you’ve got nothin’ else going on, you’re free to join, if you want,” Michael offers, and Ray smiles back at him. 

“You gotta tell me your name first before you take me out, dude,” Ray teases, standing up straighter, “I’m Ray, in case you somehow managed to A.) Miss that confession earlier or B.), forget about it. If the answer is B, I’m gonna have to decline on that one, hope it’s nothing personal.”

“Well, lucky for me, I remembered,” Michael laughs, “I’m Michael Jones.” 

“You paying for the burgers, Michael Jones?” Ray questions in a way that sounds an awful lot like he’s about to say ‘yes’ to Michael asking him out, which leads Michael’s brain to remember the entire circumstance on why he’s even asking him out in the first place. Bank robberies are the best ice breakers.

“Why not?” he offers with a shrug of his shoulders. Ray shakes his head with a smile and turns to face the two large doors in front of them. Michael meets his eyes, and there’s playfulness in them.

“Then ‘why not’?” Ray says, moving with Michael out the doors of the bank, “Let’s get out of here.”

And they did, the doors of the bank shutting behind them.


End file.
